Smack, bang out
of it and on my way to dreamland within a minute of face-planting my pillow.

No shower. No
wank. I didn't even check my phone.

All I could do
was throw off my clothes, crawl under my duvet and let my final thoughts and
feelings of the day play out through my exhausted mind and body like a movie
reel stripped apart, cut up and reassembled at random.

The smell of Mr.
Price on my skin. The hum of my hole still tingling after its workout. The
taste of beer and sweat on my tongue. The ache in my throat. The memory of his
load, hot and gooey, spurting straight into my stomach. The sting of my knee
after throwing myself in his path.

Trying to escape
his bedroom. His interrogation. My brilliant lie. His car.

Blackness.

Then my mum.

Beautiful, like when
I was a little kid. Not tired and stressed and sad like the last time I'd seen
her.

Her long blonde
hair, down to her shoulders, was almost shimmering in the sun streaming through
a window behind her. Her grey-blue eyes the colour of ice but as warm as summer.
Her skin healthy and sun-kissed. Her lips full and smiling.

We were at home.
Our home. In the kitchen.

Dad was there
too. He was laughing at something he was reading in the paper.

Sat at the table
he looked younger and fitter. His hair was thicker and his face was free of the
ghostly wrinkles and lines I was used to seeing illuminated by the incessant
blue glow of his computer screen.

He was happy too.

They were excited
about today. Something big was happening. Something to do with me.

`You can't be
late, Oscar,' she said, pinning a gold flower onto the lapel of a black blazer
I realised I was wearing.

I looked down at
myself.

Under the blazer
was a black shirt complete with gold tie and gold waistcoat. Below was a pair
of black trousers that stopped above extremely polished gold brogues.

`Your mother's
right,' Dad said, placing his paper on the table and walking over to me. He put
his hands on my shoulders and beamed. `It's your big day, son. You can't keep
him waiting.'

Then there was a
church.

Small and stone
but with a steeple that reached to the sky. Long and thin like a needle it stretched
on for miles, piercing the now thick layer of grey ominous clouds above, and
disappearing out of sight. So stretched it seemed distorted, like a glitch in a
computer game. Now and again it would shudder and lurch and then suddenly
disappear, only to reappear exactly as it was half or a quarter-second later.

But no one seemed
to notice.

Not one of the
guests outside seemed to care. They were too busy looking at me. Standing still
and staring. Not moving a muscle. No smiles. No frowns. Blank expressions on
their faces. Faces I didn't recognise.

I tried to focus
on a woman in a black dress and gold hat as I reached the church doors. Her eyes
and nose and mouth moved like liquid. Everywhere I looked her features would slink
out of my line of sight. Just out of focus.

Taking a deep
breath, I looked up. The steeple had disappeared. The sky was blue again and
the sun was back out. The church was a normal size and shape. A fleeting bird
song chirped through the air. Discordant and jarring.

`Hurry,' Dad
said, his suit sharp and fitted.

I heaved open the
heavy wooden doors but they flew open like they weighed nothing at all. They slammed
against the walls inside and a deafening boom echoed through the church.

A man, dressed in
a matching gold and black suit, was stood at an altar a long way away. Far
longer than possible in such a small building, but the aisle, covered in a
tatty, old red carpet, reached on regardless.

The man turned at
the bang of ancient wood on ancient rock and smiled.

It was Tim. Tim
Price, waiting for me. As handsome as the first day I'd laid eyes on him.

We're getting
married?

I took a step
forward. And another. Then another and another. But no matter how many I took I
couldn't get any closer. No matter how far I walked he stayed out of reach.
Waiting for me to join him.

Beckoning me
closer.

So I ran. As fast
as I could. The carpet below whirring under my feet like a treadmill. The same
fibres, the same brown stains and the same frayed edges repeating and repeating
as my arms and legs pumped.

Then I tripped
and fell, forward onto my face, but as I hit the ground the floor
disintegrated.

It shattered
apart like exploding glass. Benches and carpet and bibles and candles falling
and spinning like Alice down the rabbit hole. Tumbling alongside me down into
darkness.

Until I landed. Abrupt
but soft and upright in a chair. An old green, fabric chair in an office.

Mr. Price's
office.

In front of me
was his computer. On the computer was a folder. No name. I clicked it open. Double
clicked the file inside.

A video.

A video of Adam
and Mr. Price. Standing in a bedroom. Kissing.

His bedroom.

Half naked, their
shirts were off. Their hard, muscular torsos against each other. Their strong
hands touching and gliding over bulging biceps and pecs and triceps and
deltoids and abs.

Then the camera
panned. Lying on the bed, naked and smirking, was James.

My ginger pocket
rocket. Grinning up at them. Him five foot three and on his back. Mr. Price a
whole foot taller and Adam three inches taller still, now either side of the
bed. Dwarfing the smooth, toned teenager like giants.

James sat up, got
on all fours and opened his mouth. Began to work Adam's cock, sucking on it
like a lollipop until it was as hard as rock between his lips. Mr. Price moved
to the other end. Pulled James's cheeks apart and ate his hole.

I watched.
Astonished. Amazed. And then angry. Jealous.

My stomach twisted
as Tim's powerful jaw stopped moving. I shook with rage as he gathered a
mouthful of spit and let it fly. Tears began to well as he slid himself inside,
raw and ruthless.

For three seconds
I watched them fuck him. Roast him like a pig on a spit. Both staring at each
other. All three loving every second.

James abandoning
himself. Adam lost in Tim's eyes. Tim lost in his.

Tim. Lost.

BEEP! BEEP!
BEEP! BEEP!

My alarm yanked
me back to reality. Loud and fast and disorientating.

Clawing at my
bedside table I picked up my phone. Seven in the morning. Thumbed the alarm to
snooze and turned back onto my side. Snuggled under the covers for warmth.

What the fuck
was that? I thought, my
heart beating hard in my chest.

A dream,
obviously. But not just a dream. A nightmare.

But it shouldn't
have been. The whole messed-up church scenario aside, the idea of Tim and Adam
working James between the two of them was my idea of heaven. Especially if I
had a ringside seat or a few close-up, action shots.

At least I
thought it was. Now all I could think about was how I'd felt. Upset. Envious.
Scared.

Weak.

Shaking myself
out of it I picked up my phone again. Checked my texts.

Four new
messages. All from James from the night before. Each getting progressively more
annoying and needy.

First he asked if
I was still coming over. Then if I was ok. Then if there was a reason why I was
ignoring him. Then, finally, one last instalment calling me a dickhead. All
from not coming over one evening out of too many to count.

Maybe this kid
isn't worth the trouble, I
thought.

Throwing my phone
onto a pile of dirty clothes on the floor I rolled out of bed and made my way
to the bathroom.

Dad's door was
closed, as usual, but there were no sounds of mouse clicks or keyboards being
furiously tapped. No swearing through headphones at some spotty teenager on the
other side of the world. Maybe he'd actually gone to sleep this time.

Down in the
kitchen I put two slices of bread under the grill and made a cup of tea. Sat
and sipped, still digesting my dream, as my breakfast slowly crisped under the
red hot, blazing elements.

There was only
one explanation. One explanation to why I got upset. One explanation to why I
dreamt about marrying the guy. I liked him.

I had feelings
for him.

More than just
wanting his body. More than just using him to escape this cesspit of a home and
school life. I missed him. His voice, his smell, his touch.

I didn't want to
marry him. Not that legally we even could. Marriage was something my parents did
and it fucked them up good and proper, that's for sure.

There was no way
I would ever tie myself to another person like that. Tie myself to their life
and their problems until death do us part. Not in a million years.

But it must have meant
something. Something big.

Not to mention
the fact that, as I spread butter and jam onto my toast and thought about the
texts from James waiting unanswered in my inbox, I didn't care.

I didn't give a
toss if the little twat didn't want to see or speak to me again. After all that
work grooming and preparing him to get double dicked, it didn't matter anymore.
All that time wasted and I wasn't bothered. Frankly, I wasn't even that bothered
about seeing Adam again.

It was all about Pricey.

I thought about
him on the walk to school and all through first and second periods. French and music.
Thought about him at break. Fantasised about him so much during double English
I had to spend fifteen minutes in the library toilets at lunch rubbing one out.

But as I stepped
back into the cold, red-faced and semi-hard under my school trousers, my pondering
on what the two of us would get up to on the weekend was cut short. Literally.

James. We collided.
My chest, his face.

`Sorry,' he
muttered, scurrying backwards and out of my way; an automatic response from
short arses like him used to being pushed around.

But then he
looked up and his demeanour shifted in an instant. Submissive subservience to
narrow-eyed fury.

`Oh. It's you,'
he said.

For a moment I
contemplated rolling my eyes and ignoring him. Walking away from his bitching
and moaning. But, with the endorphins from freshly emptied balls still rushing
through me, I was prepared to hear him out. Humour him for a few minutes.

After all, as
much as I had bigger fish to fry, his arse was still one of the best I'd ever
had. Maybe I could kill two birds with one stone. Set him straight and sweet
talk him back onto my side.

`Well spotted,' I
said.

`Where the fuck were
you last night? You said you were coming over.'

`Yeah sorry,
something came up.'

`Why didn't you
text me?'

`I forgot.'

`You forgot?'

`Listen, James,'
I said, taking him by the arm and pulling him around the corner, away from a
passing group of year tens. `What's your problem?'

`My problem?'

`Yeah, your
problem. Why do you have to text me twenty-four seven?'

`I don't text you
twenty-four seven!'

`Surely you get
my point though? I'm still at the same school as you. I still live in the same
town.' Checking left and right – all clear – I ran the backs of my fingers down
his cheek. `I'm not going anywhere.'

He moved his head
away, but looked up through calmer eyes. He frowned.

`I just don't
understand why you didn't reply.'

`Like I said, I'm
sorry, I forgot.'

`Do you even want
to be my boyfriend?'

I'd been waiting
for that question for days. Maybe even a week. It had been clear to me for a
long time the guy thought we were dating. Officially together and all that
bollocks. There'd just been no need to break his delusion.

Until now.

I took a deep
breath. Collected my thoughts. It was earlier than I'd planned, but it was now
or never.

Placing my hands
either side of his waist I pulled him in close.

`Listen,
handsome. I need to tell you something.'

`What?' he said, his
nervous eyes darting left and right and trying to read mine.

Nervous because
of what I was doing and where we were, but also the same nerves as the first
time I'd ever touched him. Scared but loving it.

`This boyfriend
thing. I'm super flattered, but I have to be honest with you. I don't think I
can do it.'

His eyes widened
in sadness and shock. He pulled away from my hold. His mouth opened a fraction,
saying nothing.

`But it's not
you. It's me. I promise,' I continued.

`So what? That's
it? You're just going to stop talking to me all of a sudden?'

`No, no. Not at
all. What I mean is, I can't be your boyfriend because it wouldn't be fair on
you.'

`Fair?'

`Yeah. Fair. I'm
not ready for it. I want more.'

`What do you mean
more?'

`Adam.'

`Adam?'

`He wants to join
in. With us. And I want it too.'

`Join in?'

`A threesome. You,
me, him.'

`I get the
picture!' he snapped.

`Come on, don't
tell me you're not keen on the idea?'

`All this time,'
he said, looking down at his feet. Then he looked back up, tears glistening in
his eyes. `All this time when you spoke about him. About how he wanted to get
together so he could have someone to talk to. That was all crap wasn't it?
You've never cared about me. You were just using me.'

`That's not
true,' I said.

But it didn't
come out convincingly. I was already switching off and it was beginning to show.

He shook his
head. Wiped his eyes. Then he began to walk away.

`Come on, James.
Don't be a pussy. You'll love it,' I said, no more shits to give.

It didn't go down
well.

`Fuck you,
Oscar.'

After that, other
than in class or across the field or in the corridor, I didn't see James again.
But like I said, I didn't care.

I didn't give a
damn. Not when I had Tim waiting to cook me dinner. Waiting to spend more time
with me so he could be himself. Waiting to get to know one another.

If only I'd known
how long I would have to wait.

To be continued ...

Head over to my
website to learn more about
Oscar, including exclusive content about my upcoming eBook series Oscar Down
Under.

Copyright Jack
Ladd 2016

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